


Knit One (And Purl Too)

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-05
Updated: 2010-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur learns how to knit, and makes Ariadne some knitted underwear in the process. Luckily, she likes it and thanks him with sex, good time is had by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knit One (And Purl Too)

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC-17 for yarn, knitting related banter and sex.  
> Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur  
> Notes/Warnings: For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/12989.html?thread=28711613#t28711613) prompt at[](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/profile)[ **inception_kink**](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/): Arthur learns how to knit, and makes Ariadne some knitted underwear in the process. Luckily, she likes it and thanks him with sex, good time is had by all. Established relationship is up to the author, including a knitting pattern is optional but would win you extra brownie points. ;)
> 
> The characters, setting and story of _Inception_ are the property of Christopher Nolan and no cash is being made from this story.  
> 

~*~

It was 4pm on Christmas Eve. Arthur could think of at least three things he'd rather be doing right now, and only two and a half of them involved Ariadne undressed. OK, maybe all three. Instead he's freezing his butt off outside a cafe in Paris, since he's been here pretty much all day, watching their latest mark and her lover giggling over _chocolate chaud_ and whispering sweet nothings to each other while an adorable choir of little French children, faces all aglow under knitted caps and doubtless with visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads, tweet _Les Anges Dans Nos Campagnes._

And to make matters worse he's in the company of Eames, a man who loves Christmas with all the fervour of a six year old and had to be coaxed out of the reindeer antlers he arrived wearing as too unsubtle, and Cobb, who's twitching about finishing his festive shopping, delving into the collection of carrier bags he arrived with every ten seconds and muttering to himself about needing to get another gift for Miles; will wine do? Or is that too clichéd for a man who lives in France and has recently reunited with his French ex wife? Should he get him a book instead? What time do the stores close today anyway? 

Arthur could feel himself on the verge of throwing something at one of them and yelling "Bah, Humbug!"

The thing is, the thing that really niggles him, is that he likes Christmas. It's a horrible truism that crime never takes Christmas off, but in his experience he always has. He's always had time to fly home, share gifts with his overexcited nieces and nephews, eat his mother's cooking, wear bad holiday sweaters and watch TV by the lights of the tree with his father while they drink spiked egg nog and laugh at Dan Ackroyd in his grimy Santa suit trying to shoot himself with his dud gun. Or at the very least he'd get to spend it in Dom and Mal's house, complete with two hyperactive under tens who would wake him at 6am yelling "Santa's been here, uncle Arthur! Santa!" Then drag him into the den to see the tree, presents spilling everywhere and the smell of Dom making coffee drifting in from the kitchen.

And despite what he feels other people might think of him (after all, hadn't Eames sneered "What's the matter? Don't Gucci do Christmas?" When he caught Arthur's face that morning), he likes all of it. He likes trees with too much glitter and hundreds of lights. He likes carols. He likes over thought gifts and under thought ones and ones that are just gift cards in envelopes. He likes overeating, too much sugar and the entire reliance of festive food on chocolate, cinnamon and turkey. He likes snow and frosty mornings. He likes roaring open fires and swags of greenery tied up with red ribbons. He even likes mistletoe. God, this year he'd do without everything and just have mistletoe, preferably with Ariadne under it in her gift from him, that lip gloss she's got that tastes like peppermint candy canes and a big, festive smile.

Arthur sighed at the image and sipped his coffee. This is their first Christmas together, as in in the same apartment, sharing the same bed and the same life and heaven knows this isn't how he wanted it to start. They haven't even had the chance to decorate yet, what with this mark needing so much attention and the layout for the two levels needing constant tweaking- in fact, that's where Ariadne is right now, working over the plans yet again- since Cobb would not allow them to use this or that as the set up; no to a department store, no to a spa, no to a beach resort until Ariadne was furious, half shouting "Then where the _fuck_ can we go with this, huh?" into his impassive face, throwing her pencil at him and stomping off to lunch for the next two hours. Their one concession to the season so far has been a mantel full of cards and Ella Fitzgerald's Christmas playing softly when they get home in the evenings.

Then, of course, there's gifts. Buying a Christmas gift for someone for the first time is, in Arthur's experience, always fraught with difficulties. If it's someone you want to shower with everything rich and rare in the world it's even harder, since you can go massively overboard and end up looking desperate, needy and as if you're trying to buy someone's affections or  you rein yourself in too hard and end up handing over a pair of bed socks and a key fob, thus looking like Scrooge McDuck.

Eames shifted next to him and signalled the waitress with a vague gesture. "The three of us sitting here, not talking is starting to look extraordinarily suspicious." He muttered. "Perhaps we should attempt a little chit chat so we don't look like the Christmas outing of the Expensively Dressed Mute Society?" Cobb made a face which roughly translated meant _oh, for goodness sake_ and Arthur hoisted up one immaculate eyebrow, wearily saying; "Fine. You start." 

Three cups clattered onto the table. The mark was kissing her boyfriend with seasonal high spirits. The children were still singing like reedy angels dressed by The Gap. Eames rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Excellent, I will." He settled back, picked up his coffee and turned on the full voltage of his charm, fixing Arthur with an innocent look. Then he let the punch go.

"So, Arthur, how's Ariadne's present going?" 

~*~  
  
 _Three months earlier_

 __It was a relatively peaceful (and, most conveniently, an Ariadne free) day in the workshop when Arthur sat down, switched on his laptop and decided to start Christmas shopping for her. To any other person it might seem like the most extreme expression of forward planning in the world to be gift buying in September but, Arthur reasoned to himself, he had a few problems when it comes to choosing something for her. The first is that she's currently almost as solvent as he is, meaning that if she wants something she tends to buy it for herself. The second is that she isn't really the kind of woman who demands huge jewels, exotic scents or rich clothing. Admittedly for her birthday he gave her a discreet and rather lovely bracelet (that she wears all the time since he fastened the clasp around her wrist and she kissed him with exuberant delight.) But she doesn't wear labels, she refuses far flung beach holidays and has never shown much interest in owning a luxury car; and for all the difficulties this causes him in picking trinkets to shower her with he wouldn't change it. Arthur himself has never enjoyed being someone else's billboard, lounging in the heat until he gets sunstroke or owning a car in one of the most traffic heavy cities in Europe, so why should he expect that of her?

He was gazing idly at Tiffany's engagement rings ( _how did that page come up?_ ), his mind idly turning over the possibilities that went from books to a new drawing board when he heard someone behind him attempting to discreetly clear their throat. And fail.

"Thinking of popping the question are we?"

Eames sounded horribly chipper for someone who spent most of his nights awake, and when Arthur turned to look at him he appeared alarmingly bright eyed as well as being far, far too close for comfort. "No." Arthur turned back to close his laptop with a defiant snap when a large, forger shaped hand caught the edge of the screen and turned it into his eyeline. "So, what are you spending your precious time doing then? Surely not buying a little something for someone else, are you? Since if you are I think Ariadne's next design will be for an Arthur trap that knocks you into a pit with a kick in the bollocks."

"Very funny, Eames." Arthur kept his voice flat and expressionless. "If you must know, I'm picking out her gifts for Christmas."  
"Who, Ariadne? It's _September_ , Arthur." Eames was withering. "I'm sure Prada won't sell out before Christmas Eve." He reached for the track pad and started flicking through the tabs giving a running commentary as he went. "Mulberry? Hmm, a bit staid. Chanel? Ariadne's not fifty and going on a cruise, you know...Prada? Oh, there's a surprise. A drawing board? Dear heavens, what are you, her boss?"  
"In a manner of speaking..." Arthur started, only for Eames to interrupt.  
"You know what your problem is?"  
"You refusing to leave me in peace?"  
"No," Eames snapped, "it's that you're thinking with your wallet, not that four chambered muscular organ in the middle of your chest." He finished triumphantly.

"What does my cardiac function have to do with this?"  
"Are you being deliberately obtuse?" Eames opened a new tab and started a Google search. "You know what I mean. You need to give her something money cannot buy. Something, more specifically, that has come from you with her in mind."  
"Are you going to quote Hallmark cards at me all day or do you have a point?"

"What I am talking about, Arthur, is the gift of the handmade object. The individually crafted, the bespoke, the singular and the rare. Made by your own tiny paws to be held in hers and adored."  
"Are you serious?" Arthur frowned, "Are you actually saying that a macaroni necklace would be more appreciated than a craftsman made leather bag?"  
"Dear me, did you never watch any of those horrible Christmas children's films where even though people are poorer than a disabled banana they still give each other little wooden do-dads crudely carved with a blunt teaspoon and everyone blubs and sobs _'It's the thought that counts!'_   into their ragged sleeves? And I was thinking of something a little more ambitious than pasta on a string." Eames was clicking his way through pages of results, his eyes scanning each page furiously.  
"What then?" Arthur persisted. "A mix tape? A carved soap? A homemade cake?" He tried not to roll his eyes in exasperation.

"Lovely though all those ideas are, I was thinking more along the lines of something like this..." Eames twisted the computer back round to reveal a page of knitted garments, ranging from hats and scarves to sweaters and coats. "Ta da!"  
"Knitting?" Arthur looked at the page like it contained hardcore pornography. "Are you _fucking_ serious?"  
"Come on, Arthur, there's no need to be rude about it. Think about it for a minute, OK? It's a handcraft based on linear design, it's easy to pick up and requires a degree of manual dexterity which you already possess. It's a liminal activity, which means you can do the odd bit here and there. It creates a variety of fabrics once you've mastered the basics and..." Eames took a deep breath for his big finish, "...think how flattered Ariadne will be when she opens her Mulberry bag to find a hand knitted scarf, hat and mitten set on Christmas day!" 

"You know a lot about it." Arthur narrowed his eyes suspiciously in Eames direction. "Did you have this planned?"   
"No, " Eames admitted slowly, "I knew a girl who knew how to knit and that's what she used to say when she tried to teach me. Plus my mum can and she always sends me a scarf, even when I was in Mombasa. And I kind of like it." He mumbled.

"No." Arthur grabbed his laptop and slammed the top down.  
"No?"  
"No! I am not learning how to knit so you can get some twisted laughs out of me doing so." He pointed an accusatory finger at Eames.  
"Nothing could have been further from my mind." Eames attempted to look pious and failed spectacularly. "I was merely thinking of Ariadne's face lighting up when she saw how much time, effort and thought you'd put into her gift and all the rewards that might bring you in return." He leered briefly and Arthur recoiled. "Of course, if you don't think you can learn how to knit, that would be another matter entirely." Eames' eyes widened in all innocence. "There's no shame in admitting that you lack the skill or the faculty, of course, and I would never dream of putting you in a position where..."  
"That isn't the reason at all." Arthur raised his voice over Eames' pontificating.  
"No?"  
"No. I was merely thinking that..."  
"Prove it." Eames' challenge was sharp as stab in the gut.  
"Don't be childish." Arthur retorted, "I am not going to do something out of a misplaced sense of protecting my machismo."  
"What's the matter, Arthur? Scared you can't?"  
"Eames..." He warned.  
"A hundred quid says you can't..."  
"Bribing me now?"  
"...or don't you love Ariadne enough?"

The final blow hit home. They stared at each other furiously until Arthur inhaled sharply and replied in glacial tones. " _I love her_ ** _more than you could possibly comprehend_**."  
"In that case," Eames said quietly, "consider what I said about thinking with something other than your wallet. After all, I'm pretty sure she likes you for more than your bank balance." He drew himself up and slipped away, back to his corner of the workshop.

Arthur watched him go, all the self righteous irritation knocked out leaving him slightly deflated, slumped in his chair with his laptop still clutched in his hands. "Fuck," he muttered and closed his eyes, "fuck, fuck, _fuck_." Eames and his damned people skills, reading everyone like a fucking open book. Fuck him. And fuck Christmas too.

He opened his laptop again and carefully Googled: "learn to knit".

\---

To his secret and total delight, Arthur found learning how to manipulate needles and yarn (the correct technical term, he learned for the spun fibre used in knitting. "Wool is yarn," the patient young woman in Le Bon Marché had explained, "but not all yarn is wool.") not only easy but oddly satisfying. After an initial frustration with casting on which left him with a rat's nest of tangled loops and knots and a small worry that his hands were just too big to handle the task, he found himself easing into the act of creating fabric with an almost meditative calm. From his first wobbly attempt at a square, made in secret in his study, to his eventual graduation less than a week later to a sombrely striped scarf which he planned to present to James and, two weeks after that, a neatly bobbled cap which he decided might just do for Phillipa. 

In the end he discovered that knitting was nearly the best craft he could ever have chosen for himself. It's logical, since it required preparation, planning and execution, three distinct states he was already accustomed to from his work. It needed a technical and organised mind that could read and decipher directions given in a refined and highly symbolic manner. And in essence it's actually pretty simple, since the act of making the stitches or shaping the fabric only ever requires that the maker do one of two things; knit or purl, increase or decrease. In fact, it occurs to him as he sinks into a happy crafting trance one evening when Ariadne is distracted by model building, knitting is binary. It can only ever ask one of those two states of you, and how hard can that be? He smiled to himself as he finished another row.

But of course, once he'd acquired the skill the question was what to make? Ariadne had a wardrobe full of scarves and no matter how he tried Arthur couldn't bring himself to be happy with the idea of a hat, scarf and mitten set however elaborate. No, this needed to be something special for Ariadne, something that required luxury and beauty as well as the effort of making it by hand. And he was, honestly and truly, at a loss.

\---

Arthur picked another quiet afternoon to sit idly at his desk, flicking through his latest and most eye opening knit based discovery (the Ravelry pattern database) in search of inspiration. Or just for the sheer brain boggling variety of things people would, could and had made with yarn and needles, he hadn't really decided which. And with hindsight, he could have kicked himself for being so idiotic as to think he would be lucky enough to go undiscovered.

"Who on earth wants to make a _penis shaped chapstick cover_?" Eames' voice cut through the air like a flaming ball of acrylic as he appeared over Arthur's shoulder. "Surely you're not thinking of that, are you? Pornographic lip balm?" His face screwed up as Arthur turned to look at him. "Although I suppose I should be flattered that you took my advice." He added as an afterthought.  
"It had very little to do with you."   
"Really? You just keep telling yourself that. Not all forms of inception require a PASIV, you know." Eames had the nerve to look smug. "What else is there on this charming site? I never knew knitters were such a bunch of sexy minxes." His hand hovered over the track pad, only for Arthur to move the laptop out of reach.  
"Do you mind?"  
"Not if you don't. Come on, what have you been thinking of? I may be able to oblige you with some insight and advice." He wheedled. 

Arthur hesitated, then set the computer straight. "Fine, but no dirty commentary, do you hear me?" Eames sighed.  
"I shall refrain." He sounded pained, then perked up as the various options Arthur had earmarked appeared in a neat list on the screen. "No," he muttered, scrolling down, "dull, would probably take too long, no, no, very pretty, but aha...what's this?" His eyes lit up. "This, I think, would be perfect. Sexy, understated, not too complicated if the user rating is to be believed and you can make it from silk." He moved his arm so Arthur could see, his face alight. "Since it's in all our interests for you to keep her happy, as your colleague I would suggested that knitting her these would probably go down a treat." He patted Arthur companionably on the shoulder. "See, not a dirty word in sight. That's the one. Definitely." And as swiftly as he'd arrived Eames made his exit before Arthur could react or even reply.

"Basic bra, panty and babydoll set." Arthur read aloud to himself. "Knitted underwear?"  _Knitted underwear? Oh good god..._ She'd either laugh her head off, throw it at him or love it. And he wished he could be certain which it might be as he looked at the pattern, imagining her fine skin wrapped in handmade silk lace, her creamy breasts cupped by delicate knit fabric and ripping ( _carefully, very, very carefully_ ) the bikini panties down her slender thighs. In fact so compelling was the image he barely noticed buying the pattern, the yarn and the endless list of extras he required until he was all but done.

~*~

"I've finished it, thank you for asking." Arthur supplied tartly as Cobb frowned at him.  
"What are you giving Ariadne for Christmas?" But Eames replied cheerfully.  
"Arthur has broken the habit of a lifetime and instead of throwing an alphabetti spaghetti of labels at the festive season he's made Ariadne a present all by himself."

"What? What on earth...by _yourself_?" Arthur nodded, deciding that mentioning the trip he'd made to the sewing cafe to finish the project with the assistance of the slightly confused proprietress would probably make Cobb's famous eye narrow go from _massive_ to _epic_ without stopping in between. "What, did you never make anything for Mal?" He added cautiously.  
"Well, dinner a few times. And a music mix." Cobb drummed his fingers on the table. "I fixed her car once, does that count?"

Eames snorted rudely. "I think that your efforts at wooing will soon be put into the shade by dear Arthur's here. After all, how many men make knick..."  
"I'm sure she'll like it, whatever it is." Cobb smothered Eames gleeful words hurriedly with his own. "I think we're about done here, don't you? After all, I think Isabel has her Christmas plans sorted." Through the window their mark was hurriedly paying her bill and linking hands with her boyfriend, kissing his cheeks and smiling fit to burst. "Yes, I think she's definitely going to see it in with a bang." Eames gulped down his coffee. "Well, fun though this has been I have a train to catch. Time and Eurostar schedules wait for no man." He popped his reindeer antlers back on, stood and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Cobb, Arthur." 

"I should see about that book for Miles," Cobb gathered his bags as Eames vanished into the crowds, " are you and Ariadne still visiting on the twenty sixth?" His expression was distracted, and for a minute Arthur thanked everything he could think of for granting Dom the chance to be so blissfully domestic once more. "Yeah, sure. Wouldn't miss it." He nodded as his friend smiled absently and left, clutching his gifts like a slightly dishevelled, off duty blond Santa Claus. 

"And then there was one." He muttered into his coffee. His watch read 4.45pm, if he was lucky by now Ariadne would be home, they could have dinner and watch a bad Christmas film; so what if they didn't have all the festive trimmings as well? _He didn't really need them_ , he decided, _he could live without just this once_.

He threw a handful of coins over the bill, tucked his hands into his overcoat pockets and made a beeline for the nearest Metro station.

~*~ 

The first thing he noticed when he arrived at the door of their apartment was that someone had hung a wreath of greenery on it. Arthur frowned, checked the door number and then tried his keys: definitely theirs. _It must have been their landlord_ he decided to himself as he pushed his way in, shrugging off his coat, _a kind gesture, he'd have to remember to thank the man_. And that might have been that, except once inside three wonderful scents assailed him in a blanket of homely bliss; the soft scent of baking (vanilla, spice, warmth), the throaty tang of wood smoke (dark, burnt, hot) and the high singing tingle of pine (green, cool, wild.)

"Ariadne?" He called quietly, wondering if perhaps he was about to be attacked by Santa Claus, pissed about them extracting from one of his elves or some such. "I'm in here, Arthur." He heard her call from the living room, her voice cheerful with suppressed laughter. He toed off his shoes and wandered down the hall, opened the door and saw... _He saw_...

"Oh my..." He started and stopped just as suddenly. The entire room had been decked for Christmas. A tall pine tree sparkled with decorations and lights by the main window. Swags of ivy trailed across their bookcase, woven with ribbons and dotted with clove oranges. Their mantel had been draped with an equally opulent garland and two stockings dangled from either side. The fire place (which he'd had no inkling even worked) had a cheerful blaze burning in it and there in front of it, lying on her stomach on a sheepskin which she must have found from somewhere, was Ariadne, wearing a Santa hat with a bunch of mistletoe tied to the pompom, smiling fit to burst.

"Arthur, I have to confess something." She said sweetly. "I was impatient and I opened your gift before Christmas." He shook his head, the shock still reverberating in his brain.  
"You did what?"  
"I opened your present." He blinked, then looked at her properly. She was lying with her chin in her hands, knees bent and her beautiful waves of dark hair falling over her shoulders. "See?" She rose up so he could finally do so, running her hands down herself. "Oh," was all he could say, his mind desperately trying to encompass everything in front of him. The deep pink of the fabric swathed her like a caress, the lace offering tiny peeks of the skin underneath. Her chest rose wonderfully under the bodice, the fine satin ribbon arrowing down into her cleavage like an invitation. And the brief little panties hugged her hips perfectly, showing off the creamy expanse of her thighs beneath and the gentle curve of her stomach above. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I was impatient and I couldn't wait." She tilted her head to one side, her cheeks pink and fire warmed. "Can you forgive me?"

"I...did you do all this? I thought you had to work on the plans today." He managed in a faint voice.  
"I did, to both things. But the plans took half an hour and if Cobb doesn't like them he can go whistle." She grinned. "Then I came home and I did this..." She shrugged.  
"But how...?"  
"I know how much you like Christmas." She held out her hand and he felt himself take it, his fingers cool in her warm ones. "And I saw how much effort you put into my beautiful gift. So I thought that I should return the favour." She pulled him down so he was kneeling on the rug next to her and wrapped her arms possessively around his neck. "The landlord helped me with the tree, I called your mom and she gave me the recipe for her cookies; I bought some garlands, lit the fire..." She trailed off, moulding herself to him and ghosting her lips over his cheek. "Do you like it?" She whispered as his hands settled on her hips, feeling the fine fabric he'd made warmed by her skin and the flames.  
"Yes." He swallowed hard, "Oh, yes. It's perfect."

"So, am I forgiven? Or do I need to make it up to you some more?" She ran the tips of her fingers down his chest, catching his nipples through the fabric before idly tracing the waistband of his pants. "Do you know," she said conversationally, "that I read somewhere that lots of men have a fantasy about making out by the lights of a Christmas tree? Is that true?" A gentle grip on the tongue of his belt then loosening it, notch by notch. "Or having sex in front of a log fire." One button of his fly, achingly slowly, followed by the next, then the next. "Arthur?" Two hands, sliding past his underwear and over his backside as they forced his clothes away, dropping them to his knees. "I, uhh, yes. Definitely." _Oh god, sex in front of a Christmas tree by an open fire with my hot, smart, kind girlfriend who loves her knitted panties and wanted to make me a beautiful holiday in return and I think_... "Arthur?" She prompted, a huge smile on her face, "Why don't you sit down and I can show you how much I liked my present?" She pushed him gently down so he was sprawled on the rug. "Would you like that?"

Arthur scrabbled through his brain to find an appropriate response that wasn't along the lines of "Oh fuck me, yes." But Ariadne obviously wasn't in the mood to wait for an answer, since she dropped onto all fours and crawled between his legs, pressing her mouth onto his urgently before she lowered her head carefully into his lap, her hair spilling over his bare thighs and licked his cock with one delicate lap. He heard her hum of delight as he surged against her, a gasp knocked out of him as she nuzzled her face deeper, opened her mouth and started to suck him in earnest, pulsing her lips and tongue around him as she drew him in and out.

"Oh fuck, Ariadne." He managed breathlessly, one hand settling on her Santa cap as he leant down to watch her, her dark head bobbing eagerly as she devoured him like Christmas candy. Her tongue rasped over him, teasing his head as he nestled between her lips then swiping back and forth as she sank him into her mouth, pressing him deeper and deeper as she worked. The lights from the tree blurred in front of his eyes, the heat of the fire making his skin prickle in the most pleasant fashion and the smell of Christmas and her drowning him in a wave of blissful desire.

"Oh fuck, Ariadne." He murmured again as she cupped his balls in one hand and started to stroke them tenderly, twisting her tongue around him and humming from deep in her throat. His limbs felt tight and shocks of sensation shot through them, making him want to shake and press against her. His ass clenched as she stimulated him, trying to slow down his body in vain as heat coiled in his groin where her warm, wet mouth was working him slowly and surely towards release.

"Oh fuck, Ariadne. _Ohfuckohfuckohfuck_." He heard his voice hit a pitch so high it sounded like a squeak, the heavy throb in his balls suddenly unbearable as his hips lifted, as she pulled him in as deep as she could, as his body quaked, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, as her hand grasped and tightened, the overwhelming suck, lick, pulse around him making him sweat, then moan, then gasp " _ComingI'mcomingI'mahhhAriadneoh_!" as she swallowed him down, hot wave after hot wave breaking through him before he fell back, spent.

"Hmmm." He heard her purr as she let him go gently, smoothing his thighs and stomach with her hands. "Have I made it up to you properly, do you think?"  
"Oh god, yes." He drawled, melting into the soft wool underneath him.  
"Really? What I did was pretty bad. I mean, opening a present before Christmas," he felt her start to pull his pants and briefs away, "that's kind of unforgivable." Fabric landed on the couch, then sure fingers started on his tie, gently pulling it free.  
"I forgive you."  
"You do?" His buttons were being loosened, one by one. "In that case, I guess I should be thanking you for my beautiful, thoughtful gift instead." He opened his eyes to find her leaning over him and he rose up on his elbows to kiss her, her mouth still carrying the taste of him when he opened her lips. His shirt slid open as she carried on undressing him, refusing to break the rhythm of of their embrace as she slowly but surely rendered him naked, lifting each arm to pull the cloth away and throwing it after his pants with a careless lob.

"That's better." She released his mouth, sitting back with a satisfied expression. "Now, would you like some egg nog?" One hand stroked his cheek, her brown eyes twinkling and dark as she ran her eyes over him with barely hidden lust.  
"Yes, please." He smiled back lazily as she carefully untied the straps of her babydoll, letting it fall so she was bare breasted in front of him. "Ariadne, what...?"  
"Patience is a virtue, Arthur." She said enigmatically, reaching behind her for a tall glass full of the pale gold drink and taking a sip. "Want some?" She held out the glass to him, forcing him to sit up and tilting it against his mouth so he could drink.  
"Good?"  
"Mmm hmm." 

She sipped again, then dawdled one finger in the liquid. "Well, in that case..." the finger emerged, coated with egg nog, hovered over the glass before she brought it to her chest and meticulously painted one nipple with the sweet treat, "...you'd better have some more." She carefully coated the other, each one now shiny with it, and sucked her finger clean. Arthur could actually feel himself salivating as she knelt there, waiting patiently for him. "Or aren't you thirsty?" Her eyebrows quirked, and with that he rolled up, crawled forwards and closed his mouth over one breast, sucking every last drop off her skin, working his tongue over her nipple just to be sure. His hands settled at her waist, bunching her clothes in his eager fingers as he cleaned one then switched, feeling her arch against him, suckling the other and relishing the spiced, cream and sugar taste mixed in with her, only to find she'd  re-anointed the other while he was busy so he could have another taste. He could hear her sighing his name as he went, the clean hand settled in his hair as each little lick made her nipples harden and surge into his mouth.   
"Is that nice?" She said softly, pressing into him with a little catch of breath, "Does it taste good?" Arthur managed to make a soft _mmm_ around her flesh that set her twisting forwards harder. "It's making me feel so _fucking good_." She added in a smoky voice, dribbling more liquid onto her skin, the thick ribbons swiped away under his eager, avid tongue. "Oh god Arthur, that's so _fucking good_." 

He carried on, one hand leaving her waist, pushing past the delicate material of her panties as it glided down her stomach and stroking the soft curls between her thighs, feeling the sticky moisture that had seeped onto them coating his fingers as he rubbed. Ariadne moaned, louder this time, and dragged her sugar slick fingers down over his, pressing harder as he ran over her clit. "Arthur, oh shit, I want..." She panted, making him ache and harden even as she seemed to under his touch, "I want to make love, Arthur. I want you inside me. I want to feel you." Her head tilted back, her cap falling to the floor as he stroked her again. "Don't make me wait." Her voice was raw as she pushed back into him, harder and harder until she toppled him back onto his ass. "I want you." She insisted again, her skin flushed and her face hot with want.

"Come and have me then." Arthur let one hand wrap around his cock, stroking it slowly as she watched and letting his answering smile go from sweet to filthy. "I'll always let you have what you want, Ariadne. Particularly this." He bit his lip and stroked himself again to underline his point, watching her huge dark eyes following his hand. "And you know I love the fact you always demand the very best from the things you want most." She growled as she shuffled closer to him, allowing him time to pump his straining flesh again. "Like me." He added, before she slipped into his lap and claimed his mouth, grinding into him with a fervour borne of unrestrained desire.

"Panties?" He gasped when she let go and moved to straddle him.  
"No, I'm leaving them on." She rasped. "I want to feel them while I have you." Her hands scratched up his back, searing his lips with hers as she rose over him and making him shift up towards her with the utter arousal of that idea. _Ariadne in the underwear he'd made her, riding him while it slid over his bare skin..._ he moaned as her hand grasped him, clutching him firmly as she sighed. He looked down to see one hand pull her beautiful panties aside, baring her for him then guiding him into her, warm and slick as she sank down, tightening reflexively around him as she went, keeping her eyes firmly on his. 

"Oh, yes." She settled against him, pulsing her hips back and forth in tiny half circles, "Oh Arthur, that's... _mmm_." She made the happy noise from so deep he felt it vibrate through him, making him twitch inside her. "How's that, baby?" Ariadne drawled into his ear with a hint of a smile, her tongue tracing the edge and flicking the lobe before her mouth met his neck, sucking the sweet spot by his jaw.  
"It's fantastic." He whispered, resting one hand on her relentlessly moving hips, feeling the warm silk under his palm as she shifted back and forth, the other moving to cup her left breast and tease the nub of her nipple, making her pulse and rock harder. "It's all _fucking_ fantastic, Ariadne." She moaned aloud when he said her name, and began to shift back further. "It's good, Ariadne, it's so good." He carried on, urging her back to him with his hand as he canted towards her, the heat in his groin meeting the wetness in hers, the insistent throb in his cock matched by the one that seemed to be everywhere inside her. "Have me, Ariadne." The words ground out of him as she began to thrust into him, the silk of her babydoll rubbing his skin into a fever of stimulated nerves. "Have me." He insisted again, "Make me come, Ariadne. Make me come. I want to come, Ariadne." He groaned desperately into her hair, listening to her moan and pant above him before he swallowed all her noise in a kiss so furious it bruised. 

"That's it, Arthur." She leant forward, resting her forehead against his as she pounded against him, "I want to make you come. I want to come and I want you to come." Her skin was hot and sweat slicked where it touched his, her entire body tightening around him as she went. "Touch me. Touch my clit." She demanded, sealing his mouth with another kiss, breaking off when his fingers pressed down over the bud of her sex, describing the tiny circles she preferred and making her nails dig into his shoulders. "That's it," she tightened again, lifting up and back, the wet friction around his cock making him swear, "that's it, Arthur. _Oh, fuck, I_ " Her body arched away from his, the final words lost in a desperate moan as she started to spasm with him in her grip, a rush of liquid heat pouring over him as he felt the fiery ache of his balls contracting, his body stiffening, the tension in his limbs coil tight then let go as threw his head back and all but screamed her name as he came in a tumbling headlong rush.

\---

"You've never shouted before." Ariadne was spooned in his grip while they both watched the flames of the fire.  
"I've never had sex like that before." He pressed a kiss into the base of her neck. "My beautiful girlfriend whom I love very much has never had me in front of a roaring log fire by the lights of a Christmas tree while wearing the underwear I made for her."  
"What did you say?" Her voice sounded odd, slightly muffled.  
"I said I'd never had sex like that before."  
"After that."  
"My beautiful girlfriend whom I love very much has never..."

She rolled over in his arms and propped her chin in his hands, regarding him carefully. "You've never said that before, you know?"  
"Which? I'm always telling you you're beautiful..." She tutted at his grin and kissed him lightly.  
"You know what I mean."

"Ahh. You mean ' _whom I love very much_ ,' right? Well," he ran one hand up her back, carefully weighing his words as he looked her in the eye, "I do. And I should have said before now, since I've known it for a long time. And I hope that one day soon you'll," he took a deep breath, "you'll let me be the only one who ever gets to say that to you. Except for our kids, they can tell you too. Do you want kids? I've never asked." He was aware he'd left the realm of coherence behind and was now outright stream of consciousness-ing his thoughts into Ariadne's slightly shocked face.

"Arthur, are you asking me to...?"  
"Stay with me. However that works. I'm asking you to stay with me." He let his hand rest on her shoulder, his thumb touching her cheek. She exhaled shakily, leant forward and kissed him again, as sweetly and as softly as she ever had. "Yes, to both things." She said quietly, then snuggled herself into him as he wrapped her up in his grasp, pressing his face into her hair.

"Oh, by the way," she tilted her head back so she could see him again, "did you really learn to knit for me? You didn't have someone else make these and wrap them up for you?"  
"I am offended by the mere suggestion. Of course I made them; I learned knitting so I could woo you." He attempted to leer and Ariadne laughed.  
"No one has ever done anything like that for me before, you know?" Her eyes were wistful, "And of all people, I never expected you..."  
"But you know why that is, yes?" He looked at her earnestly, "Anyway, I'm glad you like them, since for your birthday I'm planning a sweater." She laughed again, this time pulling his head down to kiss her. "Lovely, I can't wait."

She burrowed against him again, her voice soft against the crackle of the fire, the shimmer of the lights and the scent of the greenery as she spoke, "and Merry Christmas, Arthur."

"Thank you for making it one, Ariadne." 

  
~*~

**Author's Note:**

> A/N's:  
> This fic is a Christmas gift to everyone who's read, commented and enjoyed my fic since I can't offer a real present to each of you, much though I'd love to. _**Merry Christmas, darlings, each and every one of you**_. In particular though this is for [](http://sairensu.livejournal.com/profile)[**sairensu**](http://sairensu.livejournal.com/), who I hope won't mind if I blame this on Selfridges' cosmetics hall, Shu Uemura, The Hummingbird Bakery and Pizza Express' La Riene pizza as well as her own intoxicating presence. This one is for you, oh Jade Eyed Goddess of the South *bows* *hugs*
> 
> Knitted underwear: sounds silly, right? Wrong! It can be done- If you'd like to knit-a-long with Arthur, the patterns he uses are the basic bra, babydoll and panty from Joan McGowan-Michael's book [_Knitting Lingerie Style_](http://www.amazon.com/Knitting-Lingerie-Style-Lingerie-Inspired-Designs/dp/1584795778%3FSubscriptionId%3D1YZR91QYB6WCG3PM78G2%26tag%3Dravelry-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D1584795778) (Images [here](http://marniemaclean.com/words/image/kls/bra.jpg) and [here](http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3161/2782178132_b408b4b11c_m.jpg)). The yarn is Alchemy's Silk Purse Handpaint in 22f _Persephone's Pomegranate_ (available at [yarnmarket](http://www.yarnmarket.com/yarn/Alchemy_Yarn-Silk_Purse_Handpaint_Colorways_Yarn-5652.html) and [Loop London](http://www.loopknittingshop.com/product/1685/Alchemy_Silk_Purse)). As a caveat, I should mention that these patterns are best suited to the less well endowed lady.   
> _[Les Anges Dans Nos Campagnes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HsQuCOouLM) _ is a very lovely and popular French carol which is better known in English as _Angels We Have Heard On High_.
> 
> "...as poor as a disabled banana..." is from Terry Pratchett's _Hogfather._
> 
> The quote "Knitting is binary" comes from Teva Durham, author of _Loop-de-Loop Knitting_ (it's also sometimes attributed to Stephanie Pearl-McFee)
> 
> Le Bon Marché (at 24 Rue de Sevres) is a Paris department store famed for its excellent craft selection, among other things. I don't own it. [Ravelry](http://www.ravelry.com/tour/getting-started) (including the knitted willy shaped chapstick warmer) doesn't belong to me either. But I'm sure Casey won't set Bob on me for too long for mentioning it. (I also promise not to ever, ever, _ever_ mention the post buttons or the mini icons either, if that helps my case at all...)
> 
> The cafe where Arthur finishes his project actually exists: [Sweat Shop](http://www.sweatshopparis.com/newssweatshop.html) on the Rue Lucien Sampaix in Paris will rent you an hour's sewing machine use for €6, plus they'll teach you how to use it.


End file.
